


Murder in the First

by godcanthelpyounow



Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Graphic Description, Minor Character Death, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nudity, Sexual assault recovery, not between buddy and mirage, pre incredibles movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godcanthelpyounow/pseuds/godcanthelpyounow
Summary: She was scared that night. Terrified, really. Buddy tries to help, but she isn't sure it's enough.





	1. Trauma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComicusPeixes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComicusPeixes/gifts).



The plan had been simple. Too simple really. They had managed to get DNA from a fairly anonymous female super, one that Mirage has seen in her entirety. One that was almost too perfectly their target’s type. Mirage went into that club with Buddy as herself, and as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she became bait.

The super they were after had a reputation as a casanova, and an asshole at that. His blatant disrespect for women, his _disdain_ for them, was one of the main reasons she wanted to nail this guy. After she shifted, she made sure to plant herself in his peripheral and slowly draw attention to herself. She drank, pretended it was alcohol, pretended to be _drunk_ (she remembered all those articles in the newspaper, his _alleged_ assault on those _girls_ , they weren’t women, they were her age what were they even _doing_ with him, why didn’t anyone _help_ them). She felt him start to watch her, his gaze piercing, dark, _disgusting_. 

He watched her until she stumbled, sweat dripping down her spine. She pretended to be wasted, but in the overwhelming heat of the dance floor, the haze of sweaty bodies constantly rubbing against hers, she _felt_ it. Her clumsy movements drew him in, and soon he was behind her, dancing too close even in a space where a personal bubble was nonexistent. The smell of his cologne almost made her gag, but she swallowed it back. _The plan, follow the plan_. She was glad the music was too loud to allow for conversation, she didn’t think she would be able to _flirt_ with this lowlife.

She shuddered when he wrapped his arms around her. He was tooclose _tooclose **tooclose**_. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. It made her skin crawl. Almost desperately, she searched the crowd, looking for Buddy. He was supposed to be watching her back, make sure things went smoothly.

 _There._ There he was, leaning against the bar. He looked relaxed, but as their eyes met she could see the worry in his gaze, the concern and clear support. She swallowed heavily as the super’s lips touched her neck. They were chapped, and _wet_ , and she _hated_ it. There was a clear question in Buddy’s gaze when she focused back on him. _Are you sure you want to do this?_ They have a _goal_ , they have a _plan_ , she promised to _help_. She swallowed back bile and nodded. This creep would die. She wouldn’t have to touch him much longer.

Mind made up, Mirage began to dance with him, grinding her body back enticingly. In clear approval, the super gripped her hips and pulled her flush against his body. He was panting in her ear. At some point he decided dancing wasn’t enough and, just as they had planned, pulled her away from the dancefloor so that they could go somewhere more… private. He pulled her towards the bathrooms but as soon as the music was quiet enough for her to speak she began pulling him towards the emergency exit.

“It’s too hot in here,” she slurred, “wanna go outside.” He looked conflicted. Outside meant that anyone could see him assault her, but, to her relief, his dick was apparently okay with that. He tugged her out the door, the cool air a much needed reprieve from the heated press of bodies. She knew that Buddy would be here soon to kill the bastard and she welcomed the fact.

She felt significantly less relieved when he shoved her up against the wall, lips searching for hers. The cold, brick wall of the alleyway scratched at her back through the thin shirt she wore. She fought him, fought against the harsh press of lips, against his hands on her waist, then her wrists, holding her down. She fought the panic bubbling in her chest, hoping against hope that in the next moment Buddy would be here to save her, to _help her_. But then it kept happening and the panic continued. She kicked at the super, her legs bouncing uselessly against his. Struggling to breath, to _think_ , she went limp.

To her surprise, he loosened his bruising grip on her immediately, then let go when she stayed limp. He probably thought she had passed out. His hands continued to roam her (not hers, she stole this body, she was going to frame this woman) body, pressing and squeezing too hard. She swallowed back her nausea and allowed her hands to roam the wall behind her, searching for something, _anything_ , to get her out of this. Her hand brushed up against something metal, round; a pipe. She tugged on it. It was loose. It scraped against the side of the building, quiet but still noticeable. He paused and she froze. The sounds of the city around them were deafening in the tense pause; him waiting for a witness, her waiting for a chance to strike.

When no one immediately made their presence known, shrugged it off and turned back to her. With a swift, harsh yank, Mirage pulled the metal pipe free and struck him across the head. Unfortunately, she was a second too late and it was a glancing blow, not a knockout like she intended. He stumbled back, dazed, blood dripping from his temple into his eyes. Before he could do much more than glare at her, a curse on his lips, she struck again. The dull ring of the pipe hitting his soft flesh echoed through the alley. He went down like a sack of bricks.

At this point, she could have stopped. She should have left him there and waited for Buddy to finish him off. But she could _still feel him_. She could feel his hands on her, his alcohol tainted breath still lingered in her nose. So she hit him again. And again. And again. Her clothes were splatted in blood and his face resembled barely more than a pile of ground up flesh. But, somehow, he was still alive. So she didn't stop there. She felt a grim satisfaction as she broke his ribs, listened to him struggle to breathe through the blood bubbling in his lungs. She took pleasure in hearing his pained grunts as she brought the now bloody pipe down on his pelvis, his legs. But he still wouldn't _die_. So, with an unhealthy amount of determination, and more than a little morbid fascination, she turned the pipe, one hand wrapped around the base, the other positioned over top it, and stabbed it into his stomach.

It wasn't anywhere near a clean cut. The way the pipe had come off the brick had left one end ragged, sharp enough to pierce, but only with the right amount of leverage and a good amount of pure rage. She had to lean on the pipe to make it more than a surface cut. She pushed hard, listening to him gurgle blood, struggling to breath, to call for _help_. She took a vindictive pleasure in denying him as he'd denied so many girls before her. It was only he finally succumbed to his wounds that she released the pipe. She stepped away and fell back against the brick wall. She watched his corpse, feeling empty, numb.

She startled as Buddy's slow clapping echoed through the alley. Quickly, she shushed him. She could feel herself turning back, returning to her own body. She hated how she could still feel the super's hands. Buddy approached the body, studying it appreciatively.

"Nice job! It won't be hard for the police to come to the conclusion that he just touched the wrong girl. Which he did, technically. This will be ruled as a self-defense case, manslaughter, if the girl is unlucky-"

"Where were you?" She demanded. Did he arrive just as she killed him? Or did he watch? Did he just let that bastard put his _filthy fucking hands on her-_

"Hey hey hey," Buddy soothed. "I got caught in the crowd. I tried to get here as quickly as I could." Studying him now, she could believe it. She could see and smell the evidence of drinks being spilled on him, body glitter and make up smeared on his sleeves. Letting out a small sob, she stood.

"I want to leave." She said it so quietly she almost didn't hear herself. He nodded, concerned. With minimal help from him, she made it back to their car. There was a plastic sheet laid out on the back seat, put down before they went inside just in case it had to get bloody. She is grateful for it. She doesn't want any evidence of this hellish night to linger in her car. When they got home, her clothes were going straight into a plastic bag, to be transported to the female super's house at the earliest convenience.

On the drive home Buddy wouldn't stop glancing back at her. She could see the pity in his eyes.


	2. Healing

When they got back to the apartment Buddy was renting for them, she tore out of the car. Three flights of stairs later, she was fumbling for her keys. She could hear Buddy rushing to keep up, asking questions, _too many questions_. No, she wasn't okay. No, she didn't need help. _No, she does not want you to touch her_.

She nearly dropped the keys at least three times in the process but she finally got the door open. She made her way quickly to the bathroom, grabbing a trash bag along the way. She slammed the door and ripped her clothes off, her skin crawling. She turned the water on as hot as it could go and ducked under the spray. She relished in the pain, watching the blood slough off her body and flow down the drain. Steam soon filled the bathroom, choking her. The heavy air reminded her too much of his heavy hands, his heavy kisses stealing her breath. Frantically, she twisted the knob, turning the temperature down as far as she could. She shivered under the icy water but she much preferred it to the steam. She scrubbed her skin raw, chasing the impression of _him_ on her body and struggling to erase it. Tears ran in unnoticed rivulets down her cheeks. When she had scoured her skin to the point of bleeding, she sank down. Curled up on the bathroom floor, crying, she ignored Buddy'd near frantic pounding at the bathroom door.

The knocking subsided. She sat at the bottom of the tub for what felt like hours before she heard Buddy's voice again.

"Mirage? Is everything okay in there?" She didn't answer. "I'm coming in, okay?" She heard the door open and soon after Buddy's shadow loomed behind the shower curtain. She curled up tighter.

"Mirage, I'm going to open the curtain, okay? I just want to check on you." She faced away from him, resting her cheek against her knee. The shower curtain pulled back slightly, allowing light to shine down on her naked body.

"Oh, Mirage," he sighed. He knelt beside the tub. She shivered. Even without touching, she could feel his warmth against her chilled skin. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to her. His palm was hot where it cradled her shoulder. It was startling to realize that his touch didn't make her skin crawl. In fact, it soothed the hornets buzzing beneath her skin. She let out a sob as she leaned into his hand. Silently, without taking his hand off of her, he turned off the water. She shivered in the cold of the bathroom.

"Hey, I'm just gonna get you a towel, okay? I'll be right back." She nodded. He stepped back, the curtain closing behind him. In the now dark shower, cold, wet, and numb, Mirage wondered if he would be true to his word this time. It was a stupid thought. Especially for such a simple errand. But she couldn't help it. He had promised before that _he would be right out_ , that _nothing would happen_ , and look at where they were now. She had killed someone. Oh, God, she _killed_ someone. And that someone had _touched_ her, had nearly-

She cut that train of thought off. She didn't want to think about what had nearly happened. Hell, she didn't want to think about what had happened. She was pulled out of that depressive spiral by Buddy returning. He stood outside of the shower curtain, clearly waiting for her to get out. With some difficulty, she stood and pulled back the curtain. Buddy had his eyes averted, holding out the towel. She wrapped it around herself and cautiously took his hand. She led him out of the bathroom and to the couch (the bed had implications she was not ready to think about). She plopped down and tugged on his hand, signalling that she wanted him to sit with her. When he sat, he sat a respectable distance away. Slowly, she scooted closer to him, craving contact, seeking a way to make the bugs stop crawling on her skin, _inside her skin_.

"Hey." Buddy's soft voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Slowly, gently, he wrapped his arm around her, giving her plenty of time to pull away. He pulled her in and tucked her against his chest. She sank into his warm embrace, letting his heat burn away the unwanted memories. "It'll be alright," he whispered, dropping a kiss on her head. She could feel herself tearing up again. She tucked her face into his neck to hide her tears, although she knew he could feel them against his skin. They sat like that for an indeterminate amount of time, with him whispering platitudes into her hair.

Eventually, she fell asleep like that.

They kept up this routine for a while, at least until she felt normal. Normal enough to stop spending all day in bed, to stop scratching at her skin until she bled. He took two days off of work to take care of her, but his coddling got on her nerves. At the end of day two she basically had to threaten him to get him to go back. He still took short days in order to make sure she didn't... do anything. After two weeks he went back to his regular schedule.

It took almost three months before she was ready to leave the apartment. It was another six before she could participate in another mission. Buddy was very understanding through it all, and for that she was grateful. Whatever reservations she had had about his cause, _their_ cause, didn't matter now. She would help him, no matter what. Just like he had helped her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Buddy works as a pizza delivery boy :)

**Author's Note:**

> To quote Mr. Incredible:  
> "I performed a public service, you're acting like it's a bad thing!"


End file.
